A Shot in the Dark
by Laugh.While.Crying
Summary: AU Eleven years ago, Albus Dumbledore managed to bring Harry Potter back to life after a house fire killed the boy and his relatives. Albus and Harry lived for years at Hogwarts together, savouring their statuses as saviours of the Wizarding World. But then Harry Potter came along and ruined everything. Harry James Potter never died, and he wants his life back.
1. Prologue

**_Disclaimer: Harry Potter, characters, names, and related indicia are tradmarks of Warner Bros. All rights to Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. and their affiliations. No Copyright infrigment is intended, nor is any money being made through this._**

_**Rating: T (For mild language, and violence) **(Warnings will be subject to change as story progresses)_

**_Summary: _AU Eleven years ago, Albus Dumbledore managed to bring Harry Potter back to life after a house fire killed the boy and his relatives. Albus and Harry lived for years at Hogwarts together, savouring their statuses as saviours of the Wizarding World. But then Harry Potter came along and ruined everything. Harry James Potter never died, and he wants his life back.**

**_A/N: Hello and welcome to _**_A Shot in the Dark**!**_**_ This is my very first multi-chapter story (I usually specialize in one-shots), and is an un-beta'd mess. Please let me know how I'm doing in a review! Anyway, without further ado: please enjoy_ **_A Shot in the Dark_**_!_**

* * *

If he were to be perfectly honest, Stan Shunpike did not truly hate his job. He complained quite often, he would admit, but being the conductor of the Knight Bus did come with some perks.

However, having to drive around on said bus at twelve o'clock in the morning and pick up random witches and wizards on the roadside was not one of those perks. Unless and until, that is, someone interesting shows up.

It had been a rather slow day, the magical community seeming to prefer flooing, apparating, or using any of the other magical means of transportation aside from the Knight Bus (he couldn't exactly blame them. The driver, Ernie, was a nice bloke and all, but he was a horrible and terrifying driver). By sunset, they had transported a grand total of five people, an all time low. By ten, any hope of activity simply stopped.

_Tuesdays,_ Stan thought. _Where the bloody Merlin does everyone go on the weekdays?_ The bus drove around in circles for what seemed like forever, unsure of what to do and unable to go home as per the boss's orders.

And then, after nearly three hours of aimless wandering, someone called. A wand had been placed in the air alongside the road. Thankful for something to do, Ernie stepped on the gas pedal as hard as he could, flooring it over to where the stranded wizard (_Or witch,_ Stan thought.) waited to be picked up.

They found their customer sitting on a park bench in a town just outside of Nottingham. It was definitely a man, a boy from the looks of his small stature. He kept himself and his face covered with a thick brown cloak, the hood resting loosely on his head, shadowing his face from Stan's view.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus," Stan recited from memory, "emergency transportation for the stranded witch or wiz-"

Before he could finish his constantly repeated monologue, the cloaked wizard pushed passed him, muttering a barely audible: "Yes, yes, I know." The shadowed figure sat himself on one of the beds, took out a ridiculously tiny bag, and pulled out a handful of sickles and a worn piece of paper. "I need you to take me here," the man said, handing the paper to Stan. "How much will that cost me?"

Stan examined the parchment that now rested in his hands. As he stared at the faded blue ink that was scrawled across the note, Stan was able to make out: _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. _

He looked up from the parchment to find the hooded wizard staring intensely at him; his vivid green eyes trained unblinkingly. The conductor felt a chill run down his spine from the raw power radiating off of the boy sitting in front of him. "You wan' to go to Hogwarts?" Stan asked dumbly.

The stranger nodded. "Is that a problem?"

He focused his eyes back on the parchment, not wanting to continue the staring match between him and this powerful figure. "Well, yeah, actually. Sorry to say, but the Knight Bus' only travellin' the streets of England this week. Hogwarts has the unfortunate state of being a bit too far for us to drive to."

Though he kept a mask of indifference on his face, Stan could tell the kid (_man?_) was frowning on the inside; his displeasure nearly palpable in the small space of the double-decker bus. "I see," he muttered, more to himself than Stan. "Can you get me to Hogsmeade, then?"

"Can I get ya to Hogsmeade? Well I don-." Stan was cut off by the soft swish of the stranger cloak as he shifted in his seat. The wizard's arm shot out, grabbing Stan's wrist before he could even blink. Stan's heart skipped a beat in fear. Was he angry that they couldn't take him? Stan could feel his pulse quicken, sweat forming on his brow. _Please let it be quick..._Please_ let it be quick..._

As he braced himself for the worst, something heavy fell onto the palm of his hand. Now, in his previously empty appendage, there sat a rather ordinary brown leather bag that seemed to overflow with a very _extraordinary_ amount of large, shiny, gold galleons.

This time, Stan's heart stopped for a very different reason.

"So," the stranger drawled, leaning back into his previous seat, acting as if he had not just placed as least one hundred (possibly two) galleons in his conductor's hand. "Can you get me to Hogsmeade, then?"

Stan jumped up, nearly tripping over himself as landed. "Er, yeah, I- let me just- I'll tell Ernie – the driver – where we're goin'."

Ernie, of course, had no qualms about driving the mysterious wizard so far after his partner gave him a glimpse of the gold they had been given. He winded down the muggle streets seemingly faster than usual (if that was even possible) eager to please the man who had paid them so much extra money. Stan stood silently on the opposite side of their customer; said customer seemed perfectly content with the silence and made no move to break it. Or move at all, for that matter.

Finally, fed up with the tension that appeared to grow like a fungus with the deafening quiet, Stan blurted out: "What's your name?"

The other wizard sighed, the only indication that he had even heard the question. He was hesitant to answer. After a few more moments of silence, he responded: "Harry. Harry Potter."

"Well, Harry Potter," he continued. "I'm Stan Shunpike and I am your conductor for this morning's ride. Might I ask how old you are?" In retrospect, it probably wasn't all that smart to pester such a seemingly powerful man, but there was something about him that Stan was very interested in finding out. What that was, he had yet to figure out.

"What does it matter?" Harry Potter snapped back at him. "I'm old enough."

"S'alright, sorry sir, didn't mean to cause offense," Stan muttered hurriedly. _Best not to get on this bloke's bad side..._ "So, er, ya wanna go to Hogwarts...Why's that...if you don' mind me askin' that is." He added the last part quickly, stumbling on the words as he said them to avoid getting the man – _Mr. Potter – _angry.

Harry Potter turned silent again, facing away from the older (_younger?_) wizard a few feet away from him. "I need to speak with the Headmaster," he spat, a surprising amount of venom in his voice. "Albus Dumbledore, yes?"

"Yeah, Dumbledore's 'is name. Why doya need to speak with 'im?"

Silence. "He has something of mine," Mr. Potter answered, the revulsion clear in his tone. "He _stole_ it from me. And I would like it _back_." A chill ran up Stan's back with each word Harry Potter spoke. Ernie remained blissfully oblivious to the conversation taking place behind him.

"Oh," Stan said awkwardly. "Well...I hope ya get it back."

Harry Potter grunted in response. After that, he successfully ignored any other attempts from Stan at restarting a conversation, perfectly happy to brood in silence. No words were spoken for the rest of the drive to Hogsmeade.

By the time the bus had pulled into the small magical town, the awkward silence had been so tangible that even Ernie (who was usually far too dense to notice small things like tension) could feel it. Both of the Knight Bus employees were very eager to rid themselves of the mysterious Harry Potter.

Harry didn't disappoint. The moment the bus stopped, he jumped up from his seat, muttering a surprisingly warm, "Thank you" as stepped out the door. He turned and quickly said "Have a safe drive back, Mr. Shunpike," before spinning around and walking the other way.

Harry got about a metre away before he paused his steps. "Oh and...Mr. Shunpike?" he called back.

"Yes?" Stan replied, not unconfused to say the least.

Harry took a deep breath before turning around to face him, slowly closing the gap between himself and the bus. "It- I think it would be better if...if you never met me."

Stan raised an eyebrow, not entirely following what the wizard in front of him was talking about. "Whaddya mean-?" His eyes widened slightly in barely concealed fear as a wand was raised to point directly between his eyes.

"Obliviate!"

A bright white light danced across Stan Shunpike's vision before slamming full force against his forehead. A sharp-shooting pain spread around his skull, the pressure building greater and greater with each breath he took (it didn't help that he had already been near hyperventilating). Stan tried to alleviate the agony by massaging his temples but with no luck. He was going to pass out...or his head was going to explode...whichever came first...

Then, as quickly as the headache came, it left. Stan stumbled backwards, holding his head in fear that it would return. He opened his eyes to find his vision blurred slightly, his steps unbalanced. He spun around on his heel to ask Ernie if he had any headache potion, only to trip over his shoes, his face coming into contact with the dirty bus floor.

"Damn it..." he held his now bloody nose, trying to stop the bleeding from hitting his uniform. After casting a quick _Episkey _to fix his nose and _Tergeo _to clean up his blood, Stan decided to sit himself on one of the brass beds just behind his partner, Ernie.

Aside from them two, the Knight Bus was deserted. Empty. Desolate. What time was it? It was dark out, so he figured it was either very late at night or early in the morning. He glanced out of one of the windows. Had he fallen asleep or something? How did they end up in Hogsmeade? They were supposed to stick around near London...

"Bit of an odd young thing, wouldn't you say, Shunpike?" Ernie called from his seat in the front of the vehicle. "What did he say his name was again? Potter, was it? Harvey...Harry...Harold...something with an 'H'..."

"What in Merlin's name're you talkin' 'bout?"

Ernie gave Stan one of his famous, 'Are you joking or are you stupid' looks. "'What am I talking about?' That kid who just hopped off, the one who paid this – absolutely beautiful – sack of galleons, the one we just drove with for over two hours!"

Stan gawked at Ernie for a moment before turning his head and walking towards the back. "Oh yeah...him," he said in response to Ernie's ravings.

_What am I going to do with this man? _thought Stan as he rested his head on one of the stiff mattresses. Honestly, Stan was going to have to place Ernie in a retirement home sometime soon. The old man was going senile...

Now miles away, Harry Potter stood in front of the gates of Hogwarts with the slightest of smirks gracing his pale features. He ran a hand through his jet black hair, letting his fingers graze his lightning bolt scar ever so-slightly.

He took a deep breath before letting himself onto the property. He hoped that Mr. Albus Dumbledore would cooperate with his efforts. It would be much easier if he did, and would take up less of both of their time.

Because Harry Potter never died, and he wanted his life back.

* * *

**What do you think? Please leave and comments and/or criticism in a review. Reviews let me know that your guys are reading and enjoy it, as well as inspire me to continue, so please review! :)**

**Covers and images for chapters can be found on my Polyvore - link on my profile - and if you have any questions, leave them in a review or PM.**

**Hope you enjoyed and continue to enjoy! Thanks for reading!**

**Nox,**

**LaughWhileCying**


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter, characters, names, and related indicia are trademarks of Warner Bros. and Scholastic Inc. All rights to Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. and their affiliations. No Copyright infringement is intended, nor is any money being made through this.**

**Rating: T: mild language and mentions of violence**

**Summary: AU Eleven years ago, Albus Dumbledore managed to bring Harry Potter back to life after a house fire killed the boy and his relatives. Albus and Harry lived for years at Hogwarts together, savouring their statuses as saviours of the Wizarding World. But then Harry Potter came along and ruined everything. Harry James Potter never died, and he wants his life back. **

**Date posted: December 28, 2012**

** A/N: Here's Chapter 1 of A Shot in the Dark! A big thank you to everyone who favorited, followed, and/or reviewed the story! Anyway, as usual, this is un-beta'd, but hopefully it isn't too much of a mess :) Without further ado, enjoy!**

* * *

_He'd done it again._

_ He shook his head in irritation; how could he be so stupid? They'd warned him time and time again; hell he'd even warned himself! He should have known better, should have listened to his gut rather than the voice in his mind. Maybe then he wouldn't be in this situation. Maybe-_

_ "Ah, I see you are awake," a voice hissed from the shadows. He had been too busy mentally berating himself to notice anyone walking into the room with him. Or maybe he (_she?_) had entered while he was still unconscious. _

_ "Who are you?" He cringed at the harsh rasping of his voice. _

_ The hidden figure chuckled lightly, giving off the charade that they were old chums playing a game. "Oh Harry," he said, his smirk evident in his voice. "I must say I'm slightly disappointed. You do not remember me? And we've had so many lovely chats, haven't we…?" _

_ Harry froze, recognizing the voice. It was the voice of his nightmares – both at night and during the day. His eyes narrowed considerably, the pure loathing evident on his face, and bile rising up into his throat. "_Lord Voldemort_," he spat. "I'd say that it's been too long, but that would be lying. Not long enough is more like it."_

_ Voldemort simply chuckled at the amount of venom in the boy's words. "You have not learned respect, have you Harry Potter?" He sighed in mock concern. "I suppose it is up to me to teach you before you die..."_

_ He waved a wooden rod over Harry, murmuring some barely audible incantation. Harry made a move to stand in front of him in an act of rebellion, only to realize that he could not move. From under the ground, thick black vines covered in blood red thorns had sprouted, latching onto his limbs and clothing, holding him down on the ground, helpless and powerless to Voldemort. A position of total submission to the Dark Lord. _

_ Voldemort leaned down; his lips mere centimetres from Harry's ear, hissing in their shared language that was forgotten or tabooed by the magical population. "_The inferior population"_, as Voldemort liked to refer to it as._

_ "You are weak, Harry Potter," he hissed in Parseltongue, all pretences of amusement or friendship forgone. "And you will do the world a great service by remembering that. There is only one man worthy of the language of the snakes, and it is not you. You are a fool, Harry Potter, and you will not be missed."_

_ Harry thrashed in place as the Dark Lord spoke to him, desperate to escape. Voldemort smiled at his attempts, knowing that they were in vain. He rose to stand directly in front of Harry, a sneer of pleasure at what he was about to do growing on his face. "There is no escape, no one to die for you, now. You have lost everything, Potter." _

_ He pressed the tip of the same rod against the boy's forehead, brushing aside his tangled, sweaty bangs to the side to reveal the unsightly blemish that had marred his skin for as long as he could remember. A thin lightning bolt-shaped scar. Voldemort appreciated the irony of their situation, the irony that Harry didn't yet realize. Harry closed his eyes, hoping he would die quickly._

_ "Avada Ke-"_

_"No!"_

Harry Miles launched into an upright position on his cot, ear-shattering screams falling from his lips, unable to stop. His arms flailed blindly in the cool early morning air, trying to attack the enemy that was no longer there. His heart was racing, pounding hard against the cage of bones it was trapped in; the small, conscious side of his brain wondered if it would rip of out his chest with the force of its beats. His breathing was ragged with fear and exhaustion. He was panicked, frantic almost, fear coursing through his veins like fire, fuelling his weak struggles. Voldemort was going to kill him; he couldn't stop, not for anything; he was so close-

"Harry!" A new voice called from behind him, softer with concern ringing in every letter spoken. A hand calmly, yet firmly, grasped his shoulder. "Calm down, Harry," the voice cooed softly. "It was just a dream. It's not real..."

The familiarity of the voice was enough to shock him out of his delusions and bring him almost, if not completely, back to reality. He turned his head to meet barely masked apprehension on the face of a young girl, probably around his age. His vivid green eyes lifted to meet her blue ones, a silent confirmation that he was okay passing between the two.

"Elisabeth?" Harry asked, still disoriented from his nightmare.

She nodded and crawled over so she was sitting in front of him. After living with Harry for so many years she knew without thinking how to take care of her brother when he had his nightmares (Which, not surprisingly, occurred quite often). "Yes Harry," Elisabeth said softly, running her fingers through his hair; it was tangled and sweaty and gross to feel at the moment, but she knew that it helped calm him down. "It's me; it's Elisabeth. Do you remember where we are?"

Harry nodded. "Delamere forest, right? In the little cottage."

"That's right." Elisabeth eyeballed him for a moment, making sure that he wasn't still asleep, before pulling him into lung-crushing hug. "You are alright, aren't you? This one sounded bad, Harry. Did you want to talk about it?"

Harry rolled his eyes before returning the embrace. "Yeah, Elisabeth, I'm fine. It was just another bloody nightmare. No need to get worked up about it."

She pulled back, giving him a full view of the sceptical look on her face.

"Elisabeth, I'm _fine_." He stared her in the eyes as he spoke, making sure that she didn't think that he was lying.

He was lying.

He most certainly was not fine, and had the pain that was scorching the lines of his scar to prove it. His nightmares were getting worse, more realistic, harder to realize that he was dreaming while in them, and longer to snap out of them once he woke up. Frankly, it scared him. Terrified him, actually.

His head was pounding and his hands just barely trembling from the Cruciatus curse sessions from the early stages from his dream. All he wanted was to take a pain-relief potion (and maybe a Dreamless Sleep potion or two) and crawl back into his makeshift bed of worn, moth-ridden blankets and sleep for the rest of his life.

Not that he was going to tell his sister that. She would worry, and dote on him, and treat him like an infant rather than the sixteen-year-old man that he was. No, it was best not to worry her any more than needed. Anyway, Harry could take care of himself. He didn't need his big sister to take care of him.

They weren't even true siblings. No, they were outcasts, orphans that found each other when they needed company most. However, they had been together for so long, been through so much together that their bond couldn't be anything weaker than that between siblings. The only thing stronger than that would be, maybe, lovers, but there was no way in Hell that either of them would willingly tread those waters. After all, they were siblings in all but blood; that would practically be _incest._

However, because the two were so close, Elisabeth knew him far too well to swallow his lies. She glared lightly at him in annoyance. "No _brother_," she fired back. "You're not '_fine_' and you know it." She sighed heavily. "Please Harry, talk to me."

Harry stared up at his sister-for-all-intents-and-purposes who was, no doubt, mentally cursing his stubbornness. He stood up, knowing that, if he did not move, Elisabeth would try to force him to talk about his dreams and _feelings_ (basically a conversation about everything that Harry did not want to talk about) and strode to the other side of the pitifully small two-roomed house (if it could even be called that).

Elisabeth, who had stood up around the same time as Harry, watched her brother in slight curiosity. "What are you doing now?" she asked as he began picking at random items throughout the front room. He seemed to be looking for something. For what, Elisabeth was not sure.

"I'm going out," was his reply.

"Out? Where? And why? It's barely four in the morning."

He nodded absently. "Yes, that means that there won't be as many people out. I'm just going for a walk, possibly to Flintsworth," the nearby town. "I just…need to clear my head?" He hadn't meant for it to come out as a question, but Harry supposed it was a little more appropriate, considering the amount of confusion surrounding everything.

Elisabeth grumbled in obvious disagreement, but otherwise did not object.

Harry shuffled around the cabin, the soft glow of the fire flickering a few feet from him, his only light source. He continued searching for a few moments before crying out in triumph, holding up what looked to be no more than a nicely-polished stick.

It wasn't just a stick, however. It was his treasured wand, the one piece of equipment that he nearly depended on every day. For unlike his sister, Harry was a wizard. A wand-waving, spell-casting, potion-brewing, broom-riding wizard.

He stored his wand in the makeshift holster underneath his pant leg and walked into the other room to change into his warmest clothes. After dressing, he re-entered the front of the cottage and turned back to face his sister. Her arms were crossed across her chest and she was lightly glaring at him in an obvious show of annoyance. Harry merely smirked and saluted her before walking over to the door. She followed him.

He opened the door quickly and stepped out into the piercing winter air. Snow covered the forest around their cottage – everything was blanketed in a thick, never-ending layer of white. The only blemish on the pristine white of the snow was the occasional rock or leaf that was blown and tossed around with the wind that blew around him, rustling his hair – occasionally whipping him in the face.

It truly was beautiful. But _Merlin!_ It was cold. Had anyone asked, Harry would have sworn that he felt himself getting frostbite from the thirty seconds he had been standing there. Already, he was regretting his decision to go out this early.

Deciding that it simply wasn't worth it, Harry turned around, hoping to sit by the fire and maybe, just maybe, catch a few more hours of sleep.

He was met by the sound and sight of the front door slamming and locking. On the previously bare door, a hastily torn piece of paper was now tacked on, familiar writing hurriedly scrawled on it.

_**H,**_ it read

_**Hope you've been practicing your warming charms! **_

_**-E**_

A smiley face and heart were drawn on the bottom, where she obviously ran out of room and began to go over the edge of the ripped scrap.

Harry started at the note for a long moment before sighing, crumpling it up and sticking it in his pocket. _Bitch_, he thought as he began his way through the wet slush, attempting to remember any scrap of information he'd read on warming charms.

**xxxxxx**

Ten Kilometres and several warming charms later, Harry finally made it to Flintsworth.

For what it was worth, Harry could have apparated to the village. He was perfectly capable of doing so – in fact, he side-along apparated with Elisabeth to work practically every day. But where was the fun in that?

Despite what he had hoped, even though he knew that it had been a blind hope, the Flintsworth Market place was just as Harry had expected it to be: crowded and chaotic. It was still rather early in the morning (the sun had barely risen in the sky), but the little town was already bustlingly with people – men, women, children. Honestly, with the amount of people walking around, he wouldn't have been surprised if the entire Flintsworth population was in the area.

However, despite its busy, overwhelming nature, Harry truly loved the marketplace, and he knew that Elisabeth did as well. He walked through the streets slowly, relishing the warm aroma of _Monsieur_ Pâte's freshly baked bread, and the sweet sound of the wind chimes on Mrs. Ozean's door as a customer pushed it open and walked inside.

Most people didn't notice him as he made his way through the sea of shoppers; those who did smiled and gave him a slight nod before turning back to their previous activity.

Harry watched as they all walked, ran, talked, or yelled. Each in their own little world that made up Harry's world. He weaved his way through the crowds, watching kids scream and run in between people's legs, too caught up in their game to care about the outside world. Watching vendors call after potential customers as they walked by. Watching wizards and muggles walk alongside each other (albeit the muggles unknowingly).

Harry stopped in the middle of it all, ignoring the cries of indignation as they nearly crashed into him. He looked around and smiled.

Today would be a good day – he could feel it.

* * *

**And there you have it :) Shout out to all who favorited/followed: ****Abbey333, BlueSammi, Cartman1701, DawnBlazeAbigail99, Mark Wink, Michaelf, Shamrock Holmes, Sibling Creature, Spilled INK.v2, Tennisismyracket, aslan333, cc4s, chriswmclark, crazy james, geetac, jeff64108, karmenraider, los-diablo, mdauben, nesciamema, required-field, sapphyreddragon-m, vestrit, willy008, Aurantiaco, Ceti H. Black, Oops I forgot my name, Trilonias, Tronishere, WinchesterGrl09, funky hunky vampo monkey, nicsav, sunshiniite.**

**Thank you to all who review: nesciamema, DawnBlazeAbigail99, Sirip, Sibling Creature, Cartman1701, Lord Jawblinneron **(Thank you for the suggestion, but the title does have some meaning, regardless of its presence in other fics), **cc4s, Guest **(I'm not entirely sure if there'll be an actual romance - right now, they're just the main characters :)), **and mdauben!**

**Thanks for reading!**

**Nox,**

**LaughWhileCrying**


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter, characters, names, and related indicia are trademarks of Warner Bros. and Scholastic Inc. All rights to Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. and their affiliations. No Copyright infringement is intended, nor is any money being made through this.**

******Rating: T: mild language **

******Date Posted: January 5, 2013**

******A/N: Once again, thank you all for reading, reviewing, following, and favoriting! I'm so excited; there are so many of your reading! :O Again, reviews will be addressed at the bottom, so please, enjoy this un-beta'd mess! Hope you enjoy :)**

* * *

The funny thing about Hogwarts was that regardless of the professors' threats of detention for late-night or early-morning wandering, Ginevra Weasley had nothing to worry about as she wandered the halls.

It was barely four in the morning; Ginny – as she preferred to be called - had been walking for nearly three hours, and had yet to encounter a single staff member – Filch, the groundskeeper, included. It certainly made things much more peaceful for her – much easier to think.

It was only early December, and yet most of her friends were already beginning to start studying for the O.W.L.s. To Ginny, it was all just plain stupid. All she wanted to do when she left Hogwarts was to play Quidditch, hopefully for the Holyhead Harpies. What did she need O.W.L.s for?

Ginny shook her head, her thoughts spinning madly around her mind. After wandering aimlessly for so long, she had somehow found herself in the courtyard, her worn-down, dirty boots, marring the pristine white of the snow that blanketed the school grounds. The sun was inching its way up in the sky – not quite ready to start the day. Not that she could blame it, really.

Her breath was visible in the unfriendly air, floating out of her lungs in thin, white wisps. She had only been standing outside for a small minute but her hands were already ice, her toes losing feeling from the place in the confines of her boots, her cheeks and nose stinging and red from the morning breeze that bit at her exposed skin and played with her blood-red hair.

She sighed, knowing that she'd have to go and get ready for the day soon. Groaning, she realized that once the sun rose fully, she'd have to do _work_ and see _people_. _No thank you,_ she thought, turning around to walk back to her dorm for a nice, warm shower. Or maybe she's go to the Great Hall for a bite of breakfast first...

She glanced down at her ragged pyjamas, the bottoms soaked from the wet slush that seeped though her boots. _Or maybe not...whatever._ Her stomach was keening softly at the thought of being denied food for another hour, but Ginny ignored it, heading back up to her dorm room.

The walk back was long and uneventful. Part of her was hoping that Peeves or someone would jump out from around the corner, just so she's have some action, some adrenaline in her veins. Not even the Gryffindor portrait, The Fat Lady, was awake enough to scold her for being out after hours (well, before hours, really.)

As she walked into her dorm room, Ginny attempted to be as quiet as possible so as to not wake her sleeping roommates. Although, she was very tempted to conjure some water as a wakeup call... she shook her head. Bad idea; those girls would murder her.

Grabbing her toiletries, clothes, and towel, Ginny made her way into the empty bathroom, commandeering one of the stalls as her own. She hadn't completely warmed up from the cold outside, so she turned the water as hot as she could without burning herself. The shower loosened her muscles, helping her to relax from the stress of school and Quidditch. She stood in the shower for a good twenty minutes before actually washing herself, her skin pruning in the hot water.

By the time she was finished, her fingertips and toes were raisins, but her hair smelled delicious – her favourite vanilla-scented shampoo having been liberally applied to her red hair – and her skin felt soft and warm. She got dressed quickly after stepping out of the water in order to keep that heat from escaping too quickly. Instead of allowing her hair to air-dry or borrowing one of the girls' muggle hair-dryer, Ginny took her chanced of burning her hair and cast a quick drying charm on it (luckily, she did it correctly or else she would have had to go to Madame Pomfrey and explain how she caught her hair on fire).

She threw on her Hogwarts uniform and cast a quick tempus to check the time. Five-thirty...still a bit early for her tastes, but it wasn't like she would be able to go back to sleep (what with her roommate Victoria's snoring...). Most of her roommates were still asleep but a one had rolled out of bed to get ready for the day, the empty bed as evidence. Deciding that there was no point in staying in the darkened dorm room, Ginny grabbed her school bag and headed down the stairs, ignoring the snogging couple on the couch as she walked out the portrait hole.

Walking down the halls, she watched in amusement as the suits of armour her brothers, Fred and George, had charmed last year waltzed together as others sang bawdy love songs in their deep, monotone voices.

She smiled as she turned one of the corners, catching sight of unruly, I-just-rolled-out-of-bed black hair and green eyes peering out from behind rounded spectacles. Just the guy Ginny wanted to see...

Harry Potter was an incredibly strange guy: quiet, bookish, usually keeping to himself. And yet, he was supposedly some charming, charismatic superstar – the saviour of the Wizarding world. In the five years she had been at Hogwarts and been a Gryffindor with Potter, he had probably said a grand total of _maybe_ ten or twelve words to her.

Potter wasn't reserved or deep and thoughtful like many people assumed; he was just antisocial.

And Ginny, being the cold-hearted bitch the school considered her to be, loved to mess with him.

She wasn't mean, mind you. She simply messed with him – teasing and flirting with him in over-dramatic ways just for the sake of watching him squirm, making weird faces at him if they happened to catch each others' eyes. Her favourite was to loudly act like the two of had been best friends from birth, then act hurt and confused when he scowled and attempted to shake her off.

Basically, she was just plain annoying.

"Hey Harry!" she called out, smiling brightly as his face took on an expression of disgust when he realized who was in the corridor with him. She walked over, flinging an arm over his shoulders and pretending that she didn't notice his cringe. She pretended that she didn't notice his eyes trained on her arm, staring at it as if it was some kind of filthy parasite.

"Long time no see, eh?" she asked. "If I didn't know better, I'd think that you were avoiding me!" She turned to face him, her eyes growing wide innocently and lips forming a pout. "You weren't avoiding me, were you Harry?"

Potter grunted in response, refusing to meet her eyes as he carefully peeled Ginny's arm off of him. Free from the red-head's grasp, Potter stepped away, putting a good arms length between them. He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped, instead shaking his head and walking in the opposite direction.

Ginny called after him as he made his way down the hall. "Alright, nice to see you Harry! I'll talk to you later, okay?"

He quickened his steps as he ignored her. Ginny noticed and smirked, continuing on the path to the Great Hall.

xxxxx

It was still relatively early, so the number of students in Great Hall was small. Majority of which were Ravenclaws (the house was notorious for their early risers, unlike Gryffindors, who were infamous for being late to their first classes), with the occasional Hufflepuff and Slytherin. Ginny's stomach moaned painfully as her nose caught the delicious aroma of her classmates' breakfasts. Freshly baked bread with apricot jam… steaming bangers sitting juicy and fat on porcelain plates… fried eggs covered in ketchup and/or brown sauce… buttery mushrooms straight from the pan that seem to simply melt in your mouth…

Ginny was not a human pig like her brother, Ronald, but she couldn't lie – she loved food. One could not grow up in the Weasley household (what with her mother cooking practically gourmet meals with pitiable ingredients every day) and not enjoy eating. Thank Merlin for their high metabolisms.

She smirked when she caught sight of Potter who was – _no surprise there –_ blatantly avoiding everyone by sitting at the very far end of the Gryffindor table, glaring down at his food as he ate. A part of Ginny was sorely tempted to purposely sit as close to him as possible. However, her eyes quickly fell on her boyfriend, Dean Thomas, and all thoughts of Harry Potter were banished from her mind.

Dean was too engrossed in the book he was reading as he shovelled food in his mouth (Ginny rolled her eyes, what was it with guys eating like the plate would be taken away from them at any given moment?) to notice as Ginny sat down next to him. Until she reached over and stole a piece of bacon off of his plate, that is.

"Hey!" he exclaimed in surprise and indignation. "Who do you think you-?" He cut off as he looked up to Ginny's smirking face as she nibbled on the stolen food.

"You would think," she drawled after swallowing the chewed up food. "That after three months of dating you'd know someone's name." She sighed dramatically. "But I guess that's just asking _way _too much, huh?" She stuck out her hand for him to shake. "My name's Ginny Weasley. Would you like me to write it on your forehead for you; so that you don't forget?"

Dean rolled his eyes; he was used to her dramatics, by now. Pushing away her outstretched hand, he reached over and kissed her lightly. She had to fight to keep the smile off of her lips.

"Good morning, Gin," he smiled. "Sleep well?"

She sniffed in response, trying to see how long she could pretend to be angry at him. "I guess," she shrugged. She reached over in an attempt to grab another piece of food, only to have her hand lightly smacked. Dean shook his head in a mock exasperation, a smirk playing on her lips.

"Uh-uh," he waggled her finger at Ginny. "You don't get any of my food if you're going to have _that_ attitude.

Ginny pouted, crossing her arms to cover her chest. "Fine," she huffed. But she smiled brightly, leaning in to plant a kiss on his lips. He eagerly met and deepened the kiss, the breakfast between them quickly forgotten. His lips were soft against hers, and they still carried the lingering taste of pumpkin juice on them...

"Ew, can't you two eat each other's faces somewhere else?" A voice called beside them. "I'm trying to enjoy my breakfast and I can't do it with you two here."

Ginny broke the kiss and turned to the side to find her dorm mate, Demelza Robins, watching them and pretending to gag into her pumpkin juice. She rolled her eyes and ignored the female Gryffindor: this was the girl who didn't know private from public displays of affection.

She turned back around to Dean, but he had, unfortunately, began eating again, all his attention on the food in front of him. Ginny grabbed a plate, her groaning stomach remembered, and filled it with various meats and pastries. The goblet in front of filled itself with the perfect amount of pumpkin juice (not a drop too much, not a drop too little).

More people began flowing into the room, including Hermione Granger, her brother's girlfriend. She was supposedly the "brightest witch of her age," but Ginny always had her doubts. I mean, she was dating _Ron;_ how bright could you possibly be to do a thing like _that?_ Regardless, Hermione was nice: the type of girl that someone like her brother _definitely _needed.

Ginny smiled sweetly to the girl's face, but frowned in pity behind her back (not unlike majority of the Hogwarts' population). _It can't be easy being a muggleborn in this generation..._

The noise level of the Great Hall steadily rose as more and more students began coming in – eager to get a bite of breakfast before they headed off to their first class. Her two best friends, Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood (who was actually a Ravenclaw, but usually migrated from the Ravenclaw to the Gryffindor table during meals) sat down on the side opposite of her and Dean, their conversation changing quickly: from the strange hat that Luna decided to wear today to the upcoming Quidditch game to upcoming Weird Sisters concert.

Inside, Ginny sighed in contentment as she leaned against Dean, listening to Ron and Hermione bicker like an old married couple from the opposite end of the table. The professors sat up at the head table, overseeing the crowd of teenagers, probably talking about what lectures they'd give today. She took in the sights of cheery morning people (and the not-so-cheery, not-morning people), the sounds of everyone's conversations blurring into one loud hum, the smells of everyone's breakfasts, and the feel of Dean's arm wrapped around her waist.

She rested her head on Dean's shoulder and smiled.

Today would be a good day – she could feel it.

* * *

**So, yeah, this is just a smaller filler chapter to introduce Ginny. To be clear: the different Ginny and Harry chapters follow the same timeline, so this chapter is happening simultaneously to the previous one.**

**cc4s: **Thank you for reviewing, I'm very happy that you enjoyed it :)

**mdauben: **I deeply apologize for the confusion; I should have clarified that. Yes, the first chapter (as well as this chapter) takes place about six months before the prologue. Sorry for the confusion, and thank you for reviewing!

**Next chapter will be up in about a week, so see you then :) Leave a review if you liked it (or, if you hated it, leave a review! :) ) I love hearing what you guys have to say!**

**Nox,**

**LaughWhileCrying**


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter, characters, names, and related indicia are trademarks of Warner Bros. and Scholastic Inc. All rights to Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. and their affiliations. No Copyright infringement is intended, nor is any money being made through this.**

******Rating: T: mild language **

******Date Posted: January 14, 2013**

******Words: 2,774**

******A/N: Wow, I really excited about the number of readers! Thank you to allow of you phantom readers and a big thank you to everyone reviewing, following, and favoriting :) Please read to the bottom, as there's an important A/N that I'd really like if you read :) Hope you enjoy Chapter Three!**

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Harry stood on the side of the road, watching as the sun rose higher and higher into the sky. More and more people trickled into the already crowded streets with each passing moment, creating a thick wall of noise and smells, threatening to overwhelm him. For a moment, Harry wondered just how many people lived in the diminutive town. He and Elisabeth had lived by the town for over half a decade, yet he never really bothered to interact with the people who inhabited it (nor they, him, for that matter).

He glanced down at his battered watch. The glass was cracked slightly and numbers slightly faded from its frequent use. Elisabeth had pestered him time and time again about either getting rid of it or repairing it, but he refused.

It was a quarter to six, meaning that if he wanted to get anything done, he needed to get going. He set off down the street, making sure to keep his head down and avoid calling attention to himself. It wouldn't do him any good to be seen wandering the streets. He had a tendency to cause a bit of trouble – not purposely of course. It just...happened. If only Elisabeth would believe him when he told her that. It wouldn't do any good for the wrong person to catch sight of him.

As he passed by an elderly woman sweeping the porch of her shop, Harry made sure to call out a hearty, "Good morning Mrs. Blake!"

The woman – Mrs. Blake – stopped sweeping momentarily to smile up at Harry. "Hello Harry dear," she said, nodding to him then resuming her sweeping.

Rosaline Blake ran the small clothing store where Elisabeth had worked since she was twelve, and Harry nine. Back when they were dirty, good-for-nothing street kids. Thieves: rotten pests to be avoided or, better yet, squashed when given the chance.

At the time, he and Elisabeth were blessed to have shelter; but they had no money, and foraging only got one so far. In the previous years, the duo made do with gathering edible plants – berries, mushrooms, greens, etc. – and hunting small game, like birds or rabbits. However, the year that Elisabeth turned twelve, an electrical storm caused lightning to strike on some dry wood, sending a fire to engulf a majority of the forest in red hot flames, killing off most of the plant life, and sending the game away for greener pastures.

And leaving Elisabeth and Harry to starve in the coming winter.

The two had attempted to live off of the meagre stash that they had previously collected, but it simply wasn't enough to last them through the harsh months. Desperately hungry, they eventually led to begging, trying to guilt the public into giving them food and money. And when that didn't work, they stole. Most of Flintsworth's population turned a blind to their troubles, leaving them to stare or freeze in the snow.

Mrs. Blake however, could not and would not turn away the pair.

She allowed Harry and Elisabeth into her home, giving them food and water. In return, all Elisabeth had to do was help keep the front of the store clean; she was twelve at the time, and Harry, seven. Two years later, Harry took over Elisabeth's job, and she moved to the back of the store, where she helped Mrs. Blake make and mend the clothes. Over the years, the tasks their jobs entitled varied – some days he'd clean, others he'd load boxes – but they could always count on some sort of income, and therefore, they could count on not starving to death.

She was a strange woman, a fact that Harry wouldn't deny. When she thought Harry wasn't looking, she always gave him the creepy, knowing smiles. "I expect great things from you, Harry," she would always whisper after he completed a task, no matter its difficulty. And that _twinkle_ in her eyes that never seemed to fade! Yet, the woman was still the kindest woman the pair had ever met, God's personal gift to Elisabeth and him.

Harry almost stopped and helped her (he didn't care that he wouldn't get paid: Mrs. Blake was practically family) but he knew that he was short on time. Despite what he had told Elisabeth, he didn't walk to Flintsworth simply to "clear his head" (although that was part of the reason). Harry needed to see him; and he'd be leaving _very_ soon.

He manoeuvred through the crowded streets, trying as hard as he could not to knock anyone (or himself) down. Was this what a fish felt like when trying to swim upstream? It seemed like he was fighting tooth and nail simply to walk one hundred metres up the street!

It took about a few minutes, but eventually Harry fought his way to a little patch of exposed brick on the obnoxiously bright coloured walls of the town. He placed his hand on the bricks and strained to push his magic to his fingertips, his body becoming colder with every push, as if all the warmth in his body left their original places and met in his hand. The warmth was pleasant at first, a nice change from the frost that inhabited the area like an icy plague. But it grew hotter and hotter with each second until it was damn near intolerable; his hand was burning as if he had placed it onto a set of iron pokers. Harry could have sworn the distinct odour of burning flesh had polluted the otherwise crisp air...

After what had seemed like a lifetime (but, in actuality, was only around fifteen seconds), the wall finally pushed in, and Harry snapped his hand back, blowing on it and scooping a handful of snow off of the ground. Upon inspection, Harry's hand didn't show any of the expected changes – no patches of skin burnt black, no smoke, and no redness – the only indication of what had happened being a slight tingle of pain that pulsated every once in a while, causing his hand to twitch uncontrollably and very uncomfortably. Harry rolled his eyes. _What did I expect? You'd think I'd be used to that by now, but no._

As Harry nursed his (non)injured hand, the brick wall in front of him opened up, revealing a small passageway, dark and musty and completely uninviting. The muggles walked by, not even sparing a glance at the bizarre appearance of a hole in the wall and the boy standing in front of it, completely oblivious. He cast a few paranoid glances over his shoulders before walking in and embracing the cool darkness.

On the outside, Harry made sure to keep a calm and cool demeanour as he walked (ran) down the darkened corridor, but on the inside, he was panicking. Had he already left? If he did, well, it wasn't the end of the world, Harry supposed, but still.

Magic-induced light invaded his eyes as he reached the end of the corridor, the destination being a dingy little room that didn't look like it was big enough to house a rat. Stepping out into room, he looked around. His eyes jumped around until the fell upon a man over in the far corner, sitting and throwing things into a suitcase and nursing a (rather large) bottle of Ogden's Old.

"Ah, Mundungus," Harry said, his relief barely masked. "Good, I thought you'd left."

Mundungus Fletcher looked up from his place on the ground. Fletcher was by no means an attractive man; he was short and fat and his long ginger-coloured hair fell down in greasy strands, looking extraordinarily like a mop had been haphazardly thrown on his head. Had Harry not been used to Fletcher's appearance, he could have easily mistaken the man for a pile of rags. His personality didn't exactly make up for the lack of looks, either.

"I leave in less than a half hour," Mundungus grunted, his words slurred (not much, but enough to be noticeable) from the Firewhiskey he had consumed. "What do you need?"

Harry smiled. That was why he liked Mundungus: he wasn't one for chit-chat or formalities. That couldn't be said for most people from this town, but then again: Mundungus wasn't from this town.

Like Harry, Fletcher was a wizard: the only other wizard that Harry had met in his life. He was fairly certain that other witches and wizards lived in Flintsworth, but he wasn't exactly welcome in to town, so it was difficult for him to investigate. In truth, Harry wouldn't have even known he was a wizard if he and Elisabeth had not met Mundungus. After he had apparated to the wrong location and stumbled upon Harry playing and levitating frogs by a small pond, Mundungus had taken it upon himself to be Harry's mentor for all things magic, and had been for years (until Harry surpassed him, that is). And yet, despite all the help he had given Harry over the years, Elisabeth openly _despised_ the man. _He's never seemed too fond of Elisabeth, either, for that matter..._

As far as Harry knew, Fletcher was the only man for kilometres that sold anything remotely magical, therefore making Fletcher Harry's one chance at purchasing potion supplies and books.

Luckily for him, Fletcher was always well supplied (albeit, Harry wasn't always certain that his supplies were obtained in exactly...legal manners).

"I just need a few things if you have the time," Harry said. Fletcher nodded, not one to pass up the opportunity to gain some more gold. Fletcher never minded that Harry couldn't pay in wizarding money (what was it again? Gallons? Galleons?); he simply exchanged them at the big wizarding bank in London: Gringotts. "I'm running a little low on potion supplies, and I was wondering if you happened to have any cauldrons? Preferably self-stirring, but any pewter cauldron is fine. A rat climbed into Elisabeth's last potion and the thing – along with the rat – exploded."

Fletcher said nothing for a long moment, simply staring at Harry (or was it through Harry?). The young wizard shifted awkwardly as the seconds ticked by with nothing more than an intense stare from the older man. Several times, Mundungus opened his mouth as if to say something, but swiftly shut it and resumed his piercing stare.

Finally after an immeasurable amount of time, Fletcher nodded and grunted – a confirmation that he did, in fact, have the items he needed. He turned around to pull out his bag where his stock sat, leaving Harry awkwardly frozen in confusion. A hundred things ran through his mind, but the only coherent thought he could truly pick out was: _What the hell just happened?_

Fletcher simply went about his business as if nothing had happened, and Harry quickly decided to go along with it, too creeped out to do otherwise. After searching though all of Fletcher items, Harry was finally able to pick out the potion supplies he needed, and even coaxed Mundungus into giving him a good deal on a nice brass cauldron that would otherwise cost him a small fortune.

"That'll be...nineteen galleons, sixteen sickles, and four knuts."

Harry gave him a blank stare.

Mundungus rolled his eyes. "In muggle money, it would be about ninety-nine pounds."

Harry nodded in understanding, and, although he was loath to spend that much money at one time, he handed the flimsy paper to Mundungus. The tension and awkwardness still lingered in the room; Harry wanted to leave, and he wanted to leave _now_. As soon as his purchase was finalized, he quickly shook Fletcher's hand and exchanged goodbyes – they wouldn't see each other until the summer; for some reason, Fletcher hated the winter and spring in Flintsworth.

Turning around, Harry started back toward the tunnel, not wanting to spend another second in the room and hoping to pick up a few things before he went back home. Hopefully, _Monsieur_ Pâte's bread was still nice and warm. Maybe his daughter, Violet, would even be there...

"Hey...Harry, wait," Fletcher called, throwing him out of his thoughts. Harry internally groaned. What more could the man possibly want? He'd already paid, after all. He spun around to find Mundungus with an eerily similar expression to the one he wore earlier in the deafening silence, again staring through him with that thousand-yard stare. They stood like that for a good minute.

"What," Mundungus said finally, breaking the stillness in the air. "What's your name, boy?"

Harry eyebrows shot up and he rolled his eyes dramatically; this was one of Fletcher's stupid games, wasn't it? "I'm pretty sure you said my name just now, Mundungus."

Fletcher shot the sixteen-year-old a dirty look. "Yes, yes, your first name's Harry; I got that much. I'm not an idiot, boy." He stopped to take in a calming breath, letting it out slowly. "No, I meant, what's your _last_ name?"

Again, Harry raised an eyebrow. He and Mundungus had known each other for seven years now; the older man had memorized Harry's name after realizing that Harry would be a frequent aspect in his life. _But then again,_ Harry mused. _Mundungus _is_ getting older._

Harry sighed in mock annoyance and hurt. "Is your memory slipping, Mundungus?" Harry teased. "I thought you would have remembered me by now! I'm Harry, Harry Miles, remember?"

That wasn't completely true, but it was what everyone – including himself – identified Harry as. The last name was actually Elisabeth's; Harry had simply taken it on at a very young age. When they were little, people were more willing to help poor, orphaned siblings, than poor, orphaned children who just happened to find each other. Non-siblings were assumed to be ne'er-do-wells: hooligans or partners-in-crime (literally). Why the sibling dynamic helped or made any real difference, Harry never really knew, nor bothered to know.

Surprisingly, Mundungus didn't snap at Harry for teasing, – as he normally did – but instead, his lips grew into a wide, feral smirk. "Ah, Harry, but you and I know that's not entirely true, is it? I've known that your last name wasn't Miles since you first told me, but I didn't ask." Fletcher got up off of the ground, brushing his soiled-beyond-repair clothes in an attempt to rid them of dirt.

Harry wasn't fazed by Mundungus's "admission." Harry hadn't used his real name (outside of the cabin, although Harry and Elisabeth rarely ever used surnames in general) in over ten years, so how could Mundungus _possibly _know him as anything other than Miles?

"I've a hunch as to what your real last name is as well," he continued. He stopped beating his tattered robes for a moment, his eyes locking on Harry's unafraid ones. He grinned before casually saying: "Potter, isn't it? And I reckon your middle name is James, isn't it?"

Mundungus needed no confirmation other than the visible paling of Harry's face. He gathered up his things, visibly more cheerful than he had been for all the time that Harry had known him. Harry said nothing as Mundungus packed up his things to leave; he simply stood there, too shocked to do anything else.

Harry's thoughts swarmed with questions as he watched the elder wizard. How did he know? And he knew for _so long!_ But he was so careful never to use Potter! How was this possible? Why didn't he say anything earlier? What was Fletcher planning to _do_?

He was snapped out of his thoughts as Mundungus grabbed his bag. He placed a heavy hand on Harry's shoulder, tipping his hat with the other. "Have a good day and a Happy Christmas, Mr...Potter," he smiled. He patted his shoulder a couple of times before withdrawing and turning toward the street.

"Wait!" Harry called, much like Fletcher had when Harry had made to leave earlier. Mundungus stopped, that damnable smirk still dancing on his lips. He had a million questions to ask, but the only one that bubbled up to his lips was: "How- how did you know?"

Mundungus shrugged, the smile never leaving his lips. He lifted his hands, waggling his fingers at Harry. "Magic," was all he said before tipping his hat once more and walking to Flintsworth's MAAP (Ministry Approved Apparition Point). Harry watched as Mundungus grew smaller and smaller and smaller before finally disappearing into the horizon.

Harry turned and walked out the door, shaking his head slightly as he went.

Now Kilometres away, Mundungus Fletcher smirked once more. He may not have been the top of his class back at Hogwarts, but he was damn-near the best at silent, wandless, tracking charms.

* * *

**The problem with this being Un-beta'd is that I don't have anyone helping me to fix my chapters. I don't particularly like this chapter; in fact, I've revised it so many times that I stopped keeping track. (That's actually why this chapter is late. That and I have a major history project to do. Sorry about that, by the way). **

**That's why I need your help! Please, if you could take a minute or two and write a review that has some constructive criticism that I can use for this (and future) chapter(s), I will send you a sneek-peek of chapter 4. (And yes, this is bribery ;) ). **

**mdauben: **I'm glad that you aren't confused; I apologize for the confusion once again :) Harry and Hogwarts will be colliding soon, but Harry won't be _going_ to Hogwarts any time soon. And "Harry" isn't exactly "at Hogwarts" either. Make of that what you will ;)

**cc4s: **Here's your update! :) No, "Harry's" not friends with Ron or Hermione. He's very much that creepy loner that secretly hates everyone in the world. And thank you! :)

**emarald777: **Thank you for reviewing :) Everything after the prologue is sort of building up to the prologue. You'll find out soon! :)

**Ceti H. Black: **Ha, sorry, I can't. But I greatly appreciate the enthusiasm, and you won't have to wait _too_ long for something similar. Same here, one of the many reasons why I decided to write this.

**Lord Jawblinneron: **The first will stay constant throughout the story, sorry. The second, however, is debatable. I'm still deciding, so have hope! But regardless, thank you for giving my story a chance.

**moonlight10060: **Thank you! In the previous chapter, it was Non-Harry (if that makes it a little clearer). This is in Harry-Harry's perspective. Hope that helps :) Thank you!

**Next time I post, I'll be 17! :D Stay safe, and thanks for reading!**

**Nox,**

**LaughWhileCrying**


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: See previous chapters**

**Rating: K+ (very mild language, if any)**

**Date Posted: January 21, 2013**

**Words: 2,491**

**A/N: Wow, I didn't get a lot of reviews for the last chapter, but I go alot of follows/favorites. At least I know you guys are reading! :) Hope you enjoy!**

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Breakfast – or any of the meals for that matter – at Hogwarts was never really interesting. However, when something happened, breakfast at Hogwarts was _interesting_. There was never anything in-between at Hogwarts, it seemed. All or nothing, Ginny supposed.

But here's the thing: Ginny was _not_ a nosey individual. She _never _snooped or pried or even thought about sneaking around to get information that didn't involve her in any way or that she shouldn't know.

And so when a short, squat, (and kind of ugly) man ran into the Great Hall, demanding to speak to Headmaster Dumbledore immediately, Ginny most certainly did not have the overwhelming urge to follow them to find out what they were talking about.

...

Alright.

Maybe a _little_.

The man – whom Ginny had identified as Mundungus Fletcher from the many times he had been over at her home to speak with her dad – had burst through the doors of the Great Hall dramatically, scaring the living daylights out of the first years and running as fast as his little legs could carry him (which wasn't that fast) over to the head table, eyes locked on Dumbledore. Ginny half-expected him to start foaming at the mouth. That's what rabid animals did, right?

But what really caught Ginny's interest, other than the near-hysterical ravings of the balding man, was the look of utter, unadulterated shock on the Headmaster's face as Fletchy (as Ginny had taken to calling him at a young age, much to Fletchy's displeasure) leaned in close, muttering something just loud enough for only Dumbledore to hear. The students sat in stunned silence, warily watching the two men.

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said after taking a moment to calm his features. "We should continue this conversation in my office. Will you join me, Mr. Fletcher?" Fletchy nodded and the two walked out of the Great Hall, leaving the silent room with a near tangible tension wafting about the room. Slowly, students began whispering amongst themselves all wondering just what was going on. Was something wrong? Were they in danger? What could put _Dumbledore_ so on edge?

Not even the teachers truly knew what was going on, talking with the same confused tones that the students took on.

Ginny, however, paid no mind to the mutterings of the students or even those of her friends and boyfriend. Instead, all of her focus was on the Headmaster and Mundungus Fletcher, whose retreating forms her eyes tracked like a hawk.

"Ginny? Are you even listening?" Dean muttered into her ear.

Ginny smiled sweetly and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. "Nope, sorry!" she chirped. Grabbing a last piece of toast, Ginny gave some excuse about wanting to get in a few early laps on the Quidditch pitch before she had to go help Madame Pomfrey for her internship (in truth, both the Medi-witch and Ginny would be far happier if Ginny just didn't show up, but hey! Ginny had a mother to keep off of her back).

Luckily, none of her friends saw anything unusual about her excuse (or even realized that her internship had been moved to after class), leaving her free to stalk the Headmaster without interference.

Ginny scoffed in her mind. It wasn't stalking so much as..._investigating._

Ginny quickly cast a disillusionment charm, as well as the (borderline dark) invisibility spell that she and Luna found last year, on herself once she found the two wizards. That would keep them from spotting her. As an afterthought, a silencing spell was also thrown on herself to keep them from hearing her footsteps or breathing. Ginny followed them to the third floor, keeping close so as to not lose them. When they came to the Gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office, the Headmaster confidently shouted the name of some candy, and the statues stepped aside.

Upon entering the office, Ginny began to panic. She knew her charms wouldn't last, and frankly, she hadn't even expected to make it so far without the Headmaster noticing her. Frantic, Ginny sprinted around the room looking for a place to hide in case her charms wore off – the older wizards speaking as they obliviously took seats at the Headmaster's desk.

Finally, Ginny found a door off in the corner of the office. Casting a Notice-Me-Not charm on it, she opened it quickly, happy to find a closet that was just big enough to hide in and close enough to the men so that she could hear the conversation.

The closet was dark and incredibly dusty, causing Ginny to sneeze multiple times before the dust finally settled. It was obvious that Dumbledore never cleaned this cupboard. She doubted that he ever even used it anymore. She slid into a ball, resting all of her weight on her feet and leaning against the door. She strained her ears to hear what was happening.

From her crouched position in the corner, Ginny could faintly hear the voices of Dumbledore and Fletcher. From what Ginny could hear, neither of them sounded very happy.

"...Know what I saw, Albus!" She could hear Fletcher protesting.

"I have no doubts that what you say is true, Mundungus." Ginny could practically hear that stupid twinkle in his eye as Headmaster Dumbledore spoke to Fletcher patronizingly. Ginny really did like the Headmaster, but she also really_ hated_ his whole, "Greater good," and "Holier-than-thou" routine. It seemed that even Mundungus, a grown man, couldn't escape being treated like a dim-witted toddler.

"However," Dumbledore continued. "We need to absolutely sure. We need _evidence_ Mr. Fletcher, and you seem to be unable to procure me any."

"You have my memories! What more could you need? I placed a tracking spell on the blighter, for Merlin's sake; he was there and he is probably still there!"

_That _sparked Ginny's interest. A tracking spell? On whom? Ginny sat up a little straighter, looking as if she was attempting to fuse her ear to the door. _If that would help me to hear better, I definitely would,_ she thought. Ginny racked her brain for all the different names and groups that she had heard about whilst eavesdropping on those meetings that her parents attended with Dumbledore: The Order of the Phoenix. Could they be talking about Death Eaters?

Lord Voldemort, the darkest wizard known to wizard-kind, was growing bolder and bolder, as a matter of fact, so for Dumbledore to be discussing the wizard's followers was not unordinary or unexpected. Dumbledore _was_ the leader of the light after all. Although, apparently Potter played a big role in it or something. Something about a "Chosen One" or saviour. Honestly, Ginny didn't believe that skinny, angry-at-the-world Potter could do anything to help the Wizarding World. (So he survived a curse, big whoop.) The story was that Potter had vanquished the Dark Lord after he had killed his parents; Ginny didn't buy it for one second. He was one when the Dark Lord tried to kill him – there was no way the most evil and powerful man in Wizarding history could have been temporarily killed by a one-year old. She had believed it as a little girl, but after actually _meeting_ the prat, she knew that there was no way.

"Mundungus, please, calm down. You and I both understand that a memory is simply not reliable enough." He paused. "A tracking spell, you say? Would you mind, Mundungus?" Fletchy grunted in response to Dumbledore's vague question. Neither of the men said anything for quite some time, the room sitting in awkward silence, leading Ginny to believe that the men were either having an intense staring match or were making out.

Personally, the latter was much more entertaining (albeit more disturbing) to envision for Ginny, but before she could pass out from suppressed laughter, the silence was broken by Fletchy.

"Is that enough to convince you?" Fletchy said, his breathing slightly laboured. Oh Merlin, were they _actually _making out?!

"Yes, it is enough to convince me that you saw him Mundungus, but it isn't enough to convince me or the entire Auror department that it really _is_ him."

A loud _bang_ echoed throughout the office; Ginny guessed that Fletcher had slammed his hand onto the Headmaster's desk.

Dumbledore continued as if it hadn't happened. "Besides, if Harry Potter really was in Flintsworth, what would the Auror Department do, Mr. Fletcher? What is it that you wish them to do?"

Harry Potter was in Flintsworth? Recently? From what Ginny knew about Potter, he never actually left Hogwarts; during Christmas and Easter breaks, he always signed up to stay at the castle (Ron had mentioned his first year when he had to spend his Christmas with the awkward bugger while she visited their brother Charlie in Romania). And in the summer, when all the students left, she was almost positive that he had some sort of special arrangement that allowed him to stay.

Ginny didn't honestly understand the desire to spend her entire seven years at a school. But if Potter really wanted to, it wasn't like she cared.

But had Potter snuck off the school grounds during term? Why did he go to Flintsworth? Ginny had been there once; it was just some stupid, uninteresting muggle town. Why would he want to go _there_?

Still, a small smirk slowly grew into a wicked grin as she contemplated just how she could use this information against the guy. _This is just rich..._

"-or arrest the one in this place! One of them is a fake, Albus! Can't you see it?" As Mundungus all but screamed at the Headmaster, Ginny was thrown out of her thoughts, jumping in surprise and gracefully smacking her head on the wall behind her with a loud _thud._

Ginny held her breath and head. The men stopped talking. Shit. Did the silencing spell wear off? Did that mean that her other spells had worn off? Oh sweet Merlin, did they hear that? _Oh gods, don't come over here_, _don't come over here, don't come over here,_ she chanted in her head as she attempted to curl into herself. Perhaps if she made herself small enough, the two wouldn't notice her...

Unfortunately, Mundungus heard not only her head coming into contact with the wall, but her small cry of pain afterwards. Completely ignoring Dumbledore as he continued to speak, Mundungus turned around, and slowly began walking over to the closet door where he heard the sound.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

Ginny's heartbeat and Fletcher's footsteps sounded in unison. Both were far too fast for Ginny's liking.

Ginny stared in horror as a pair of shoes obstructed some of the light that poured in through the bottom of the door. Sweat formed on her brow and her breathing shot off as the knob of the wooden door began turning _ever-so-slowly..._

"Mr. Fletcher, might I ask what it is you are doing?" Dumbledore interrupted. "Please, I assumed that we were having a conversation, is your intent to prove me wrong?" Ginny almost let out of a squeal of delight (and hysteria) before she realized that – with Fletcher so close – that wasn't the best of ideas.

Mundungus let go of the doorknob, stuttering at his blatant rudeness that he had shown to his host. "What? I –er – no, Albus, of course not! I'm sorry; I didn't mean to be so-"

"It's quite alright," Dumbledore interrupted once again. "Just tell me, Mundungus, do you perceive the boy – Mr. _Potter,"_ Dumbledore placed a strange emphasis on "Potter," leaving Ginny to wonder if the Headmaster was giving Fletcher one of his famous "I-know-something-you-don't-know," looks. "...as a threat?"

"If he's not who he says he is, then yes."

She heard a long, laboured sigh. "I will look into the situation, Mundungus, but that is all that I can promise!"

Here, Ginny could hear the feral smirk in Fletcher's voice as he answered. "That's all that I ask, Albus."

"Excellent." Dumbledore paused. "I shall inform my colleagues of the situation promptly. A patronus will be sent once a decision has been made."

Fletcher grunted in what sounded like agreement, but then again, how much could you really decipher from a grunt? Ginny sighed, were the two almost finished? Her legs were beginning to cramp and she was going to pass out from attempts to stifle her hyperventilating.

The room was silent once again for a long moment. Had they left the room without her noticing?

"Well, I suppose I should go," Fletcher said, breaking the stillness. "I hope you aren't offended by my impromptu appearance or my hasty exit. I have to make a living, you know?"

"Oh no, I'm not offended in the least, Mundungus," the older man replied. "I shall see you out."

The sound of chairs scraping across cold stone signalled the men getting up from their spots and signalled the end of the conversation (as well as the excitement for Ginny). Footsteps indicated their departure from the room.

The footsteps grew softer and softer as the men continued on their way out the door. The only sound in the otherwise silent office was the quiet grinding of ancient stone sliding gracelessly across each other. When the passage finally closed with a loud _slam!_ Ginny let out a sigh of relief, closing her eyes and resting her head on the wall of the closet.

That had been _way_ too close for comfort.

The fiery-haired girl sat in silence for a long moment; her hands trembled in her lap as she attempted to calm her erratic breathing. Her mind was whirring with the information she just heard. What was Potter doing in Flintsworth? Why would Mundungus perceive weak, spineless, antisocial, Potter as a threat? Just _what _would have happened if the Headmaster hadn't called Fletcher back? Would he have found her? If so, what would Headmaster Dumbledore _do?_

Detention? _Expulsion? _Oh Merlin... would he have called her _mum?_

Ginny shook herself. Why was she freaking out about this now? It was done and over with; now she just needed to focus on coming out of the closet with minimal attention drawn to her. She stood up, stretching out her muscles (which ached from crouching down and remaining still for so long) and brushing the century-old dust that coated everything in the closet off of her robes.

Ginny reached for the doorknob and began opening it, careful not to disturb some of the more fragile items in her hiding place. She just barely cracked the door when-

"And you, Fawkes? What do you suppose I should do, given the situation?"

Ginny's heart dropped to her stomach, and her blood ran cold.

_Crap._

Dumbledore hadn't left.

Ginny swore almost inaudibly as she once again retreated into the safety of the dark, musty closet.

She was utterly and royally screwed.

* * *

**Next chapter things will start picking up with Harry, so sorry, but you're going to have to wait about 2 weeks before you find out what happens to Ginny :) Oh my gosh, I saw Les Miserables on Friday, and it was amazing! Have any of you seen it? What did you guys think?**

**So, none of you really gave me any criticism, but nevertheless, I still appreciate you taking the time to review :) **

**mdauben: **Hope this begins to answer your question. As to how fast it will spread, well that is dependent on what happens to Ginny in chapter 6. :)

**KA potter fan: **Thank you for reading; I'm glad you enjoy it :)

**Hope you enjoyed, please review if you did or if you see any mistakes! Have a good rest of the week, readers!**

**Nox,**

**LaughWhileCrying**


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